


How Do I Love Thee

by Satine86, vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Collaboration, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5351855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are countless ways to say "I Love You"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Ruffles/Satine here, kicking this whole thing off...

_“It can wait until tomorrow.”_

 

There was much to do, and little time to do it. So Cassandra toiled away, taking on any job that needed to be finished. She helped Cullen with the recruits, making notes for improvements, and keeping a close eye on them. She dealt with tensions between mages and templars alike. She sorted their weapons cache, checked over requisition orders, made certain they had what they need. 

She did whatever she could, when and where she could without question. This way there was no time to be wasted on worrying and thinking. There was no time to be spent wondering at how she could have done things differently. How she could have been better. No time spent questioning if she was doing the right thing, or if perhaps she was just an idealistic fool?

Cassandra willfully shoved all her thoughts aside, instead continuing to polish and tend her gear by the fire. It was late, by all accounts she should be asleep, but the Herald needed her ready in the morning for a journey to the Hinterlands. So she focused on her work, heedless of those around her. 

It was easy to ignore the world at the late hour, only sentries and a few hapless souls were about. It was the quiet, too, save the crackling of the fire and the soft crunch of boots against the snow when a guard would pass her by. 

Eventually a figure stopped by the fire, warming their hands. 

She looked up to find Varric standing there, attempting to appear nonchalant while turning his hands this way and that before the flames. He did not not speak, and neither did she. Not until he took in a breath, paused, and then let it out again slowly. 

“Speak, dwarf,” she said, running a whetstone down the edge of her blade. 

“You've been busy lately,” he commented, voice light. It was so easy for him to make conversation, to act as if nothing was wrong. Like the Breach wasn't looming over them all, turning the sky a sickly green no matter the time of day.

“I do not like to be idle.” She fought a yawn, fist covering her mouth to hide it. She shook her head to clear it, and bent back to her work. 

“I gathered as much.” He moved away from the fire, taking a seat across from her, and watched her for a long moment. “You know, Seeker, it can wait until tomorrow,” he jerked his chin toward the sword on her lap. “You should get some sleep. I hear it does wonders for a person.” 

She looked up at him, blinking rapidly to clear her vision and bring him into focus. How long had she been working? Varric's brows were lifted, his shoulders relaxed. He seemed friendly. She had to marvel at that fact, at least a bit. It was odd to be on the receiving end of such attention. Lately she had been the one ushering people to bed, forcing them to rest. 

“We leave early tomorrow, I must be ready,” she replied and shook off his concern, ignoring him as she attempted to finish up her task. She was vaguely aware of Varric standing and walking closer.

He stopped at her side. “You need to take care of yourself, Seeker. If you're taken ill, there will be no one to keep me in line.”

She barked out a laugh at that and looked up at him. “I have not yet succeeded in that regard, I doubt it will change anytime soon. Regardless of how I am feeling.” 

“Not like you to give up. Besides,” he shrugged lightly, “you never know what might happen. Best to keep at it.” With that he left her alone, wandering away slowly, hands folded behind his back. 

Glancing down at her gear, thinking over the things she needed to finish, she thought perhaps he had a point. It _could_ wait until morning. So sat everything aside, and went to find her bed. 

As she settled down for the night, huddling in her blankets as she finally gave into her exhaustion, she realized that Varric was right. She did need to rest, she would be much more useful to the Inquisition, and to the Herald if she were in good health. 

When Cassandra woke in the morning, a few hours before their group was set to leave for the Hinterlands, she was startled to find her gear neatly stacked, cleaned and polished, her sword tended and sharpened. 

Cassandra noticed a hint of red in the corner of her vision, and turned just in time to see Varric disappear around the corner. She would have to thank him later. As she picked up her things, intending to ready herself for the expedition, she paused, a sudden thought stilling her hand.

When did Varric sleep?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vehlr reporting for duty!

_ It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway. _

 

Haven falls.

 

* * *

She wants to stop, to let the world pass her by for an hour, two hours, a day – but she cannot. The people are lost, desperate, and there is not enough food for everyone. The Ambassador hesitates, the Spymaster stills, the Commander is silent. It falls to her to lead – and she rankles at it.

Supplies are rationed out, though she passes her own food to the injured. They needed it more than she did. Nobody notices – nobody can bear to look up from their own meagre bowls. More supplies are passed around. Blankets, tents, boots, whatever could be carried away from the fires. She feels like the surgeons performing triage – assessing needs and importance. She hates it.

And then the night falls, and there is nothing left to do but wait.

Cassandra walks around the perimeter, her own vigil for the fallen – for the Herald. Maker take you, it should not have been this way. She wonders if it had hurt, if it had been quick. She wonders what comes next, without the Herald. It should not have been this way, I should have protected you – I promised -

She feels the ache of the cold, the sorrow burning in her chest. Her knees buckle, falling with a soft oh -

Warm arms pull her in tight before she hits the snow, her breath catching in her throat as she is pressed against Varric's scarf-covered chest.

“Steady, Seeker,” he murmurs, a low rumble beneath her hands. “Damnit, I _knew_ I should have made you eat something, you damned noble idiot -”

She clings to him, a broken noise bubbling in her throat as her chest aches with the weight of it all. “I failed – I failed again.”

“No you didn't – shit, c'mere, we need to move -” He hoists her into his arms proper, carrying her away from the fires of the campsite.

“Varric -”

“It's alright. Nobody can hear you over here.” He sets her down in the shelter of the rocks, one hand moving up and down her back gently, and she realises why he had moved her. Out here, nobody would see her fall apart.

Out here, she can... be.

“ _Oh_.”

The cry almost escaped unchecked, caught behind her teeth as she closes her eyes. She should not be weak, even here – especially here, with him at witness. But there is some strange comfort in the crook of his body that pulls at the weakness in her, teasing it out in fits and starts. The tears do not come, but the ache in her chest slips out in stuttered whimpers that shake her.

His head comes to rest on hers, careful and light. Her fingers are tight around the scarf, holding onto him as she takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Listen to me for once, Cassandra.” His name sounds strange, and she almost starts at it. “You didn't fail _anyone_. You're doing just fine.”

“How can you say that?” she asks softly. “If I had only -”

“Stop that.”

“I should have stopped the Herald. I should have been there, I should have been the one -”

His arm tightens around her shoulders. “ _Stop_ ,” he says softly. “Any one of us could say the same. This burden you're carrying... it's on all of us as much as you. But you don't see us dragging our heels, punishing ourselves and starving when we should be keeping our strength up.”

“I am supposed to -”

“It's alright. It'll be alright. Trust me, we're alive. That's a good start. Everything else will come with the dawn.”

She supposes he knows a little something about surviving the worst of the world. She leans into his warmth, closing her eyes. “The dawn is a long time coming,” she sighs.

“It'll come,” he murmurs. “Always does, Seeker.”

He is good with words, she'll give him that much.

They remain in the cold for some time – how long, she does not know. But eventually she tugs at his scarf, indicating that they should head back to the camp. He lets her walk, one hand steadying her at her back as she slows in the wind, their silence companionable.

At the edge of camp, she stands, awkward and hesitant. He had seen something she did not want to share. He was a writer, he might -

But there is a weariness to his shoulders, and she knows her secrets are safe.

“Varric.” She swallows. “I am sorry that -”

“It's okay,” he insists, smiling softly up at her. “I couldn't sleep anyway.”

“You should,” she offers. “There is still a little time before dawn.”

His smile twists, a smirk as he inclines his head in deference before heading back to the fires.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruffle-fuffles again. In which I accidentally make Cassandra Captain America... Captain Nevarra?

_“Come here. Let me fix it.”_

 

* * *

 

Cassandra adjusted the strap on her shield for what felt like the twentieth time in as many minutes. They were traipsing through the Storm Coast, and it seemed she had taken one too many hits, or perhaps dealt one too many. Either way her shield kept slipping and it was driving her mad.

“Seeker?” Varric said in a low voice, a warning.

She eyed him askance. “What?”

“Stop fidgeting.”

“It is my shield, the strap is loose.” She hiked it up again on her back.

Varric let out a sigh and stopped by an outcropping of stones, pointing to one. “Come here. Let me fix it.”

Cassandra was ready to dismiss him, but the look on his face stopped her. So she huffed out a breath and plopped down on the rock so he could inspect her shield.

Sitting as she was, it brought her even with Varric, letting her look him full in the face. His eyes were sharp as he surveyed her.

“It truly is fine, Varric. You needn't worry yourself.”

“Well, what if the strap breaks during a fight? Where would we be without the mighty Seeker Pentaghast bashing our enemies into submission?”

She stared at him, head tilted. “Perhaps I could fling it? It would be a bit like skipping a stone over water.” She mimicked throwing a shield in a sweeping arc.

Varric's gaze bored into hers for a long moment before he tilted his head back and laughed. “Shit, Seeker, knowing you that would probably work. But let's save that until you've perfected it, hm? Wouldn't want you to end up decapitating the Inquisitor by accident.”

Shaking his head, still chuckling under his breath, he moved around behind her. She wasn't sure what he was doing exactly, but she could feel how close he was. Could feel his fingers fiddling with the shield and strap, feel his breath on the back of her neck.

It was strange, oddly intimate.

She thought it shouldn't be. Not with Varric. Not when he was merely doing her a curtsey any soldier would a companion. It was 'all together' in the field, least someone end up hurt or worse. Varric knew that as well as anyone. She knew that as well as anyone.

Yet, she found herself holding her breath, keenly aware of every movement he made. It was so foolish. So... unlike her.

“You know, you're going to have to replace this when we get back. But I think this will hold for now. Just try not to shield bash too many Darkspawn back to the Deep Roads.”

She laughed, feeling a little nervous as his hand brushed the back of her neck. “I will try to refrain. It will be a challenge.”

“I think we both know you love a challenge, Seeker.” His voice was low, a quiet rumble inside his chest. It felt far more intimate than his touch ever could.

“I uh...” she trailed and then nearly jumped out of her skin when he leaned forward, breath tickling her ear.

“You're all set.” He patted her shoulder, and she was aware of his warmth even through the layers that separated them.

She rose slowly, willing her embarrassed blush away. He was her friend, nothing more. The thought gave her pause, he was her friend. Or so it would seem. She thought she rather liked that.

Testing her shield, she found it secure and smiled at Varric. “Thank you.”

He returned her smile, and she told herself that it did not cause a flutter in her stomach. “Anytime, Seeker.”

“You two coming?” The Inquisitor called. “We still have bandits to clear out.”

Without another word, they followed the others to finish the job. And soon, Cassandra was forced to put her shield to the test.

One of the bandits, a rogue, had been stalking them all for the majority of their fight. She happened to see a flash in the corner of her eye, the dagger glinting in the sunlight, poised to strike Varric in the back. She raced forward, raising her shield to deflect the blow just in the time, her sword striking out to run the bandit through.

Varric turned just as she yanked her sword free, brows raised. “Thank you, Seeker.”

She adjusted her shield, happy that it had held, and smiled. “Anytime, Varric.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone ask for more feels? Sounds like a job for vehlr...

_ I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. _

 

She has not spoken to him since Hawke's arrival – has not looked at him since their fight, since she told him to go and he had thrown the truth in her face. You people have done enough to her.

He was right. If Hawke had been at the Conclave, the world would be short of a Champion. She hates that he is right, hates that he -

No. She hates that she failed, once again. She should have handled it better, should have trusted him more. No wonder he had not trusted her.

She had failed, and now he would never trust her again.

 

 

* * *

They are on the way to Crestwood when they make camp. The air between them is brittle, though neither is anything less than civil. They linger by the fire in the evening, both occupied by weapon maintenance.

Dorian rests a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t stay up too late, you two,” he says between yawns as he heads for his tent.

The fire crackles.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs quietly. “I didn't mean to -”

“You did,” she says. “You _did_ mean to. Because Hawke is your friend, and you would die for your friend.” She stands, brushing the dust from her knees. “Hawke is your friend, and I am... not. I thought perhaps we might have been, but I understand now.”

He winces. “Seeker -”

“You do not need to say anymore. I will not threaten you again.”

“Cassandra, _please_ -”

She stills, a sad smile. “I am sorry,” she says finally, “for forcing your hand in the beginning. My approach was… bad. But I am forceful when I am under pressure to bring results, and I cannot regret my actions - just as I know you cannot regret yours. We must endure what we have wrought.”

Turning, she takes a deep breath. It was different, this ache – she did not care for the sensation. But it would pass – all things did, after all.

“I do.” He stands up, knees creaking. “I _do_ regret it – not protecting Hawke, but... but lying. To you. At first it was easy, you were just a Seeker looking for someone to blame. But then with everything that happened -”

“You do not have to justify yourself.”

“The hell I don't. You're my _friend_ , and I did wrong by you.” He winces. “Things are different now. _We're_ different. You're –“

“Stop.”

“You're _important_ -”

“Stop it. You cannot make this better with words, Varric. Not this time.” She retreats to her tent, shaking her head. Important? No. She was not important. Hawke was important. The Inquisitor was important. She was... an associate. Nothing more.

 

* * *

 

 

“This is the part where you thank the Inquisitor..”

Sharp words from his mouth, but… she looks up, meeting his gaze, and behind kind eyes the truth is revealed.

She had been wrong - again. She had told him he could not make it better words, and yet here he was with a whole book of them, and though she wants to shake the Inquisitor for telling him about her… reading habits, she feels a warmth in her that he would deign to write the next part of the story. That he would -

_ You’re important. _

He is aiming for nonchalant and unattached, and failing. She has been around him long enough to pick up on when the enthusiasm is barely masked. Her own is evident, she knows, hands tightening around the book.

“Tell your friends… if you have any.”

And even though his words were barbed, as usual, there was a look in his eyes that suggested it was less of an insult and more of a question - _are we friends again now?_

She smiles, and the reply causes his own to form.

“I will.”

_ Yes. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V ain't the only one who can do feels.

_“No, no, it’s my treat.”_

 

* * *

 

She stood before the shop window, looking at the display of cakes and pastries, all in a myriad of vibrant colors to rival the banners gracing the buildings of Val Royaeux. Even outside the bakery, it smelled divine, sweet and light and her mouth watered despite herself.

“And here I thought it was just Ruffles who had the sweet tooth,” Varric said, appearing at her elbow. She had long since stopped being surprised when he appeared without a sound.

“I do not...” She wrinkled her nose at him. “I was thinking.”

“About?” he prompted.

She paused for a moment, bit the inside of her cheek before speaking. “When I was a girl, there was a shop in the city. It was very similar to this one, the owners might have been Orlesian, I do not remember. My brother, Anthony, would take me there when we would visit. It always smelled wonderful, the air sweet and light. It was the best smell in the world.”

Cassandra smiled softly, remembering how excited she would get. “Our Uncle gave us spending money when we visited the city, and Anthony would go in and declare he wanted one dozen of the tiny cakes, two of each of flavor. Then he would take me to the fountain near the shop, and we would sit and taste each one.”

“That's a good memory.”

“It is,” she agreed. “I had not thought of it in years. It is funny, the things we forget and the things we wish we could.”

“I never really got along with my brother. Bartrand... well, he was a bit of an ass.” Varric shrugged, eyes focused on the shop window. “But when we were young, he got this set of toy soldiers for his birthday. He loved it. They had weapons you could change out and little cannons, even some carved horses. I also thought it was the greatest thing I had ever seen in my short life, and I wanted it desperately. I think I even cried.”

Cassandra suppressed a laugh, and turned to face Varric. “I cannot imagine you crying.”

“Well, you have to picture me a lot smaller and much, much cuter.” He grinned widely and Cassandra fought back a giggle. “Anyway, I was upset because I wanted it but I couldn't have it. It belonged to Bartrand. However, not two days later he decided that he was a “grown up”, and that the set was for “kids.” So he handed it off to me.”

“That was kind of him.”

“It was,” Varric said slowly, as if the thought had only just struck him.

Eyes trailing over the treats before them, Cassandra sighed. “It is not always easy being the youngest.”

Varric barked out a laugh at that. “No, it most certainly is not.”

“Nor is it easy being the one left behind,” she whispered and suddenly she missed Anthony very much. More than she had in years. The ache in her chest growing so strong, she felt as if she couldn't breath. She managed to take in a shuddering breath.

“Hey.” Varric reached out and brushed her elbow, trying for her attention. When she finally glanced at him, he looked somber. “You're not alone, Seeker. Don't ever forget that.”

“Thank you, Varric. That is--” She paused and smiled, huffing out a weak laugh. “That is kind of you.”

Nodding soundly, he brightened visibly, fixing his usual cocky grin on his face. “All right, Seeker. Let's get you some of those tiny cakes.” He turned and started heading toward the door of the bakery.

“I do not need--”

“No, no. You clearly do. It's my treat.” He motioned for her to follow him. She hesitated only a moment before trailing after him. Inside the smell was even stronger, and she glanced around at the various displays crowding the shop.

The man behind the counter was a happy sort with bright eyes and rosy cheeks, and he greeted them warmly.

Varric gestured toward the rows of the delicate little cakes, all intricately decorated with candies and dollops of icing, and mouthwateringly beautiful. “We need a dozen of your best selling cakes, two of each flavor.”

Cassandra turned her back quickly to hide her smile, and her sudden blush. As Varric settled up the tab with the baker, she pretended she couldn't hear them chatting.

“Hey,” Varric asked lightly, “You wouldn't happen to know where there's a fountain around here, would you?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look, Ma, I can do cute too! -v.

_Care for a dance?_

 

Varric can dance.

His face is animated as he takes the Ambassador across the floor. The music is a little upbeat for Cassandra's tastes, but Varric bears the pace well, leaving Josephine laughing as he dips her. It is a show piece, in truth, and very much his forte. Cassandra smiles. It is good to see them both in high spirits, especially here of all places. The music ends, and the crowd offer polite applause.

Varric is by her side in a flash, slightly out of breath but grateful as she hands him his drink. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

He smiles, nudging her slightly. “Admit it, Seeker, you're a _little_ impressed.”

“That you can dance? Not remotely. Your footwork in the field is indication enough that you should be adept at the more structured steps.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“An observation, nothing more.”

He chuckles, and she allows herself to relax slightly as he takes a long pull of his drink.

Unfortunately, with the lull in conversation comes another masked suitor. “Lady Pentaghast, might I -”

“If you wish to dance, I regret to inform you that I have no dance card. I am here on Inquisition business.”

“But the Lady Montilyet assured me -”

“What exactly did she say?”

“She had your dance card -”

“She _what?_ ”

Varric coughs, and the pair glance at him. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but the Lady Montilyet gave me the See- I mean, Cassandra’s dance card after we took a spin on the floor, and the only name I can see on it is mine.”

“ _What?_ ” Cassandra and the suitor exclaim at the same time. Sure enough, Varric produces a dance card with her name adorning the top and his name filling all the slots.

The man looks affronted. “But I was _assured_ -”

“There’s another Lady Pentaghast here, actually “ - and here, Varric grabs the man’s arm lightly, turning to direct his towards one of Cassandra’s cousins in the far corner - “and, if rumour is to be believed, she’s _thirteenth_ in line for the throne…”

She narrows her eyes, scouring the card. This must be a joke, _surely_.

Varric appears at her elbow again. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“My penmanship,” he says with a smug grin. “Passes off quite well as Ruffles’ work.”

“You… faked this?” she says in a low voice.

“Well, you should have seen the real one -”

“There was a _real_ one?”

“Ah, c’mon, Seeker, you know Ruffles. Any chance to exploit us for political gain.” He pulls it from a pocket in his uniform that she is quite sure he is not supposed to have. “But I know _you_ , and I know that the very idea of dancing with strangers just to further our political standing is the exact opposite of your idea of a good time.”

“She will kill you.”

Tucking it away again, he shrugs, turning to face the floor once more. “Maybe.”

She follows his gaze, turning the fake over in her hands. “But why -”

“If you have an empty one, it’ll get filled up again. But if it’s already full, nobody can argue. And I’m not exactly young, so me ‘insisting’ that you sit out of a dance with me isn’t going to raise too many eyebrows.”

She smiles. “You are not _that_ old.”

“I can pretend to be,” he points out with a grin, catching her eye. “Besides, you’re not off the hook yet. Might still ask you to dance.”

“You would not dare.”

He laughs. “We’ll see.”

She nudges him roughly, before taking a deep breath. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Any time, Seeker.” A beat. “Care to dance?”

“ _Varric_.”

“Kidding.” A beat. “For now.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ruffles brings more fluffles

_“I hope you like it.”_

 

* * *

 

The package was small and plain, simple wrapping with a leather tie holding it in place. It was curious, to say the least. She had no idea who would be leaving gifts in her room… or rather the small space she had claimed as such.

Yet, there it was. Resting gently atop her bedroll, confusing and enticing in equal measure.

She almost wondered if it had been a mistake, misplaced or mislabeled when a requisition order came in. The only thing that belayed that thought was a stripe of parchment, ripped hastily from a sheaf, judging by the jagged tear, with ‘Seeker’ scrawled across it in a broad hand.

There was only one person who would address her as such, and that confused her more. Why would Varric be leaving her gifts?

Frowning, Cassandra picked up the package carefully, it was weighty in her hand and she knew what it was immediately.

A book.

She glanced to the stack of novels and series she kept near her bed, at the newest chapter of Swords & Shields placed neatly on top of the others. She had been mortified when he had shown up with the Inquisitor, brandishing that tome like a weapon. He had teased her, of course, the Inquisitor had as well.

Thinking on that, she couldn’t imagine why he would be giving her another book now. Surely it couldn't be the rest of Sword & Shields. Cassandra wrinkled her nose in confusion and unwrapped it.

It wasn’t one of Varric’s.

it wasn’t one she recognized at all, in fact. It was definitely old, well worn.

Opening it carefully, she saw a note on the inside cover. It was written in a fine hand, and was addressed to Varric himself… from his mother? Cassandra stifled a gasp, just as there was a creak on the top step behind her.

She turned and found Varric standing there, oddly hesitant.

“What is this?” she asked by way of greeting.

“A book of stories. I read it as a kid. I don’t know, I thought you might like them? There are adventures, daring fights… even some romance.” He pulled a face at that. “I skipped those when I was young.”

She laughed, then glanced down at the book again. “Your mother?”

“Yeah, she was a fan. I think it was one of the things that got me interested in writing, honestly. I thought… I don’t know, I just figured you could use something to read while I work on the next bit of Swords & Shields.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “There will be another installment?”

“Yeah, I can’t leave my favorite fan in the lurch, now can I?”

Cassandra felt her face flush at that, she only prayed Varric did not notice. Or at least did not comment. “That is kind of you, this is very.. personal.” She looked up at him, face serious. “I will take good care of it.”

“I know you will, Seeker. Anyway…” he trailed off, cleared his throat awkwardly. “I hope you like it. Some of my favorites are marked. There’s one… toward the end. It has a princess who slays a dragon, you, uh, you might like that one.”

“I have lived it, why should I read it?” she asked, words light, teasing.

“No, you should read that one. It’s good. I promise.” He nodded, offered her a quick smile, then quickly took his leave. Almost embarrassed.

Once he was gone, Cassandra settled herself on her bedroll and pulled the book onto her lap. She flipped through the pages slowly. They were all well worn, as if read many times, several of the pages folded for easy reference. Eventually she found the story Varric had mentioned.

The story of a warrior princess who saves her prince.

Cassandra smiled to herself as she started to read.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeee back to the feels! -v.

_ There is enough room for both of us. _

 

“I must share with _Varric?_ ”

“After the snoring debacle, our Lady Enchanter insists.” The Inquisitor looks apologetic, at least. “It won't be for long.”

“O-of course.” Her nerves begin to bubble in her chest, and she turns -

“You know, that's weird.”

She curses inwardly. Varric won't meet her eyes. “You'll share a tent with Tiny, but you're weird about sharing one with _me?_ There's enough room for both of us.”

Her hands twist around one another. “It is not -”

He looks like she has kicked him, but he pulls on the caring mask. “No, it's fine, you don't have to explain, Seeker. Just surprised.”

She huffs. “ _Varric_ -”

“I guess it's to be expected, after all the complaints of snoring -”

“You are being deliberately obtuse!” she blurts out, and he stops, looking up at her. “I am not - it is not _you_ , it is the change in circumstances. I have… certain behaviours, if you will, that few know about.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Seeker stuff?”

“No… it is simply personal, and I -”

“You don't trust me?”

“Varric, _please_.” She takes a deep breath. “I _do_. I am just… nervous, about sharing this part with anyone.”

“Oh.” He smiles, reaching out to still her hands. “If you'd prefer some space, I can -”

“It is fine. I just…” She trails off, unwilling to say the words aloud. _You might think me weak_.

“Cassandra, I'm sure whatever it is, it can't be as bad as Hero and his near-constant monologue of where all his _socks_ are,” Varric assures her.

She winces at the memory of Blackwall and his distinct accounting methods for his possessions. “You… may have a point.”

 

* * *

She cannot quite shake the worry as she slips into the tent. Varric is fussing over some papers, busying himself - no doubt for her benefit - but he offers a quick smile before returning his attention to his work.

She takes a deep breath, before pulling the small talismans from her pack, the familiar words of the Chant of Trials already on her tongue. It was a strange assortment of things, one of the few non-essentials she had allowed herself, but each item was perfectly personal to the life she asked the Maker to watch over. A chess piece for Cullen. A feather for Leliana. A stub of wax for Josephine. The list went on, the items more often than not taken from the scraps and rubbish that her friends cast off, and her whispered words wash over them, as if her faith might keep them alive one day more.

She falters only slightly at the torn corner of parchment bearing Varric’s handwriting, remembering that he was present. But he had said nothing throughout her prayers, and remained silent even now.

Her voice dies away, and she packs away the trinkets with great care in the quiet before shuffling back onto her bedroll, sitting on her knees.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, “for understanding.”

Varric looks up, and she is struck by the vulnerable look in his eye.

“I think your faith is a bit stronger than mine,” he admits, showing her the sheaf of papers in his hands - letters, yellowing at the corners and in unfamiliar scripts.

“Your friends back in Kirkwall?”

He nods. “Not really in for praying, but… sometimes, you know?”

She shuffles closer, one hand resting on the letters. “I could…”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.” She closes her eyes. “Hawke liked Benedictions, I think.”

He lets out a rough laugh. “You really did your homework.”

She smiles slightly before beginning, voice firm but low. “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ruffles loudly sings I Will Wait by Mumford & Sons*

_“I'll wait.”_

 

* * *

 

Sometimes it was almost too much for her to bear. The constant fighting and carnage and destruction. It all gnawed at her, worked it's way under her skin and frayed her nerves. It should not be this way. She reasoned that they were fighting for peace, for a safer world… only most of the time it was difficult to see that end. Difficult to remember amidst the death and blood and gore.

Could she remember a peaceful life? One without danger and duty and hard work? It seemed there were few moments in her life she could call truly peaceful. And most had been spent with people now gone to the Maker's side.

Tossing and turning on her bedroll, unable to quiet her mind or her worries, Cassandra rose with the dawn. Once she was dressed she went to the only place she thought she might find peace: the chantry. It was small, intimate, and she was quite relieved to find it empty and blessedly quiet.

Cassandra knelt before the statue of Andraste, head bent, searching for that moment of peace she longed for. She wasn't surprised when the door opened quietly behind her a short time later. There was a soft click as it was shut again, followed by the sound of gentle footfalls.

Still, she kept her head bent. Granting whomever it was a bit of privacy as they searched for their own peace. The person knelt next to her, knees creaking with the motion. They let out a soft breath and Cassandra finally looked up, startled to find Varric beside her.

“What are you doing here? I didn't think you....”

He shrugged, looked up at Andraste. “I don't. But I saw you saw skulking through the main hall. You looked like you could use some company.”

Varric looked back at her, and smiled.

She had not thought she wanted company. She had thought she wanted a moment to herself, with only the eyes of Andraste watching her. Though now that he was there, she had to admit that Varric was very much a welcome presence. Steady, sure... calming.

“I...” Cassandra paused, relaxed a bit. “Thank you, Varric.”

There was silence for a long a moment while Cassandra debated with herself. She felt strangely timid, and her voice was quiet when she finally spoke again, “I appreciate that you decided to check up on me, but you needn't stay.” She sighed. “I fear I will be some time, my mind… is ill at ease.”

“Does it help? Being here?” he asked. His kept his voice just as quiet as hers, almost reverent.

“I hope it does.” She smiled at him fondly. “Having someone here helps too. Surprisingly.”

His brows arched upward in confusion, a moment of shock before settling back into a gentle smile. “Then I'll stay, Seeker. I don't have anywhere else to be.”

“Varric--”

He laid on a hand on top of hers, halting her words. He was warm and solid and strangely comforting. She looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes were soft.

“I'll wait.”

It was such a simple thing to say. A friendly sentiment, and yet… and yet it meant more than she could say.

Cassandra placed her free hand over his, squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tantalisingly close to something romantic... -v.

_ One more chapter. _

 

She wants to ask.

Maker take him, she wants to know he is _alright_. But the subject of Bianca is a delicate one at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. After all, she had just admitted to helping the enemy, to betraying Varric, to letting red lyrium out into the world. And despite that, despite his anger and admonishments... Cassandra had _seen_ that hurt look in his eyes.

He still loved her, after everything she had done, and she had let him down.

Still, he had borne it with that traditional Varric humour, shrugging off the hurts and aches with a one-liner and a wry smile that did not quite reach the eyes. Nobody questions it - nobody watches him closely enough. Nobody but her.

 

 

* * *

In the quiet of the night, she lies on her bedroll, staring up at the roof of their tent, fingers idly toying with the end of her braid. Beside her, Varric writes idly, letters of little importance. She wants to ask - but no, it is not her place, in truth. They are friends, but this is a boundary they do not speak of.

He chuckles, a rich sound that bounced muffled off the canvas of the tent. “Just _ask_ , Seeker, before you start shedding hairs.”

She starts at the sound of his voice, fingers tight around her hair, before scowling. “How do you always know my thoughts?”

“I’m good with people. Come on, what’s on your mind?”

She huffs, before stilling. “Are you… alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean to say -”

“I know what you _mean_ to say, Seeker. I’m fine, really.”

She swallows. “It must have been hard, to -”

He lets out a short sigh, and she stops, afraid she has overstepped. But he puts his letter to one side before rolling to face her. “It was not a great day,” he admits. “But honestly, I _am_ fine. I’ve weathered worse storms, and this is… not that surprising, really. Not exactly shocking that once again my poor judgement has led us down a bad path, but I've been working on getting rid of red lyrium for a long while now, so my conscience is a little clearer than it might have been.”

She nods, fingers toying with the end of her braid once more as she thinks of a better conversation.

“Are you… are you going to write more of your new story?”

“Naah. Probably going to finish it there. Loric's been through enough.”

“You cannot!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not? The story's done.”

“You – you cannot just _give up!_ ” She shuffles on the bedroll, staring up at him. “Loric deserves a happy ending, after everything he has suffered!”

“Happy endings aren't like that. Sometimes the happiest ending you can hope for is to wake up and realise that life isn't as bad as you first thought. Sometimes it's just making do.”

“It does not have to be!” she insists. “Life is - it is hard, and complicated, but there is so much _joy_ in it, and I cannot believe that a man like - like Loric, would just give up on his heart.”

“Loric’s _tired_ , Seeker. After everything -”

“One more chapter.”

“What?”

“One more chapter. Give it one more chance. I can help -”

“Seeker, you once told me you didn’t have a creative bone in your body.”

“I do not _need_ to be creative,” she says, reaching over to touch his arm, “I will do what I do best - I will show you the truth. You cannot give up on your heart, Varric.”

His eyes flicker down to where her hand rests on his arm, and she swallows before pulling her arm back. And then he smiles, a slow crooked twist of lips that makes something in her chest tighten.

“Alright. One more chapter.”

She is not entirely sure they are talking about books anymore, but as her own smile creeps over her face, she is quite sure she does not mind.

He rolls onto his back, eyes closing as he gets comfortable.

“Goodnight, Seeker.”

She bites her lip, considering him for a long moment. _One more chapter._ She might yet hold him to that.

“Goodnight, Varric.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less teasing more kissing!

_Can I kiss you?_

 

* * *

 

Escaping from the main hall into the quiet of the gardens, Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief. She was worn from Vivienne's solon, having only attended at the Enchanter's insistence. Cassandra knew she should return, deal with more nobles and endless pleasantries she did not mean, but found she could not muster up the energy. It seemed so long since she'd had a moment of peace.

The air was surprisingly pleasant, sweet and heady with the scent of fresh blooms. She wandered away from the doors to the gazebo in the corner. With a cloudless sky above her, endless twinkling stars glittering down at her, even in her current state Cassandra had to admit it was all rather romantic.

Had it been another day, another time. Or had she led another life… she might have even found herself _enjoying_ it. As it were the whole scene only made her feel lonely, and more weary than she had in all her life. Exhaustion seeping into her bones.

Huffing out a sigh, she debated if she should go back inside. Though the idea of dealing with people was less than appealing, at least then she wouldn't be alone.

She was still weighing her options when a footstep sounded behind her. She turned to find Varric making his way toward the gazebo. Without a word he crossed to her side, resting his elbows on the low railing. Even despite the evening he was as he always was, steady and sure and calming. For that she was thankful.

“You found me,” she said, turning to study his profile. The pale light from the stars and the few braziers behind them, softened his features. Softened him. Or perhaps that was only her imagination. Either way she couldn't help but think he managed to look very handsome in the ridiculous uniform they'd been forced into. Again.

Though, she reasoned with herself, too tired to argue, she thought he always looked handsome.

“Wasn't difficult.” He glanced at her from the corner of her, a smile curving the corner of his mouth. “I guess you could say I'm good at seeking you out.”

Cassandra snorted, shook her head. “Ridiculous,” she muttered and silence fell over them. But it was comfortable, natural as they both gazed up at the stars.

“It's nice here,” he said after a while. “Probably the most relaxed I've felt since in months.”

“Yes, I agree. It would make for a nice setting in a novel,” she said absently. “Perfect for a meeting between two lovers, a sweet kiss under the moonlight.”

It had been a wistful statement, her mind wandering and exhaustion loosening her tongue. Though suddenly she wished it wasn't merely a passing fancy, a story. She was shocked to realize she wanted it to be real, and she wanted it to be Varric and herself.

The thought was jarring and foolish but no less true. It was something she had wanted far longer than she would care to admit. She could feel her face flush, and silently prayed Varric wouldn't notice.

“Forgive me, I should not be entertaining such frivolous thoughts.” Glancing away from, she shook her head.

“Not frivolous. And you're right, it would make for a good set-up. Romantic.” He cleared his throat, and shifted a little closer, until their arms were brushing. He was warm.

“Cassandra, I.. uh--” he stopped himself, obviously thinking. Then he turned to face her, his head tilted back to meet her eyes.

“May I kiss you?” She pressed two fingers to her mouth, eyes wide. She had been thinking it, had been wanting it. But she had _not_ meant to speak the words out loud.

Varric's eyebrows shot upward, head tilted to one side in confusion. “Are you serious?”

“I...” She could lie. She could accept this as a loss and retreat, that's what a good tactician would. Though tact had never been her strong suit. Cassandra met his gaze full on, her shoulders squared. “I am.”

A slow grin spread across his face, his eyes soft. “Good, because I think I would like that.”

She returned his smile and they stood staring at each other for a moment. Both a little awkward and unsure. With a silent agreement, they both started to lean into each other, Varric rising on the balls of his feet. The change in height was a little sudden, and they bumped noses.

“I'm sorr--” Varric started, but Cassandra shook her head.

Reaching out she cupped his face gently and bent the rest of the way, laying her lips against his. It was a soft kiss, lips gentle. It was perfect.

Cassandra smiled when she pulled back, her hands still framing Varric's face. He looked dazed, but happy. Her smile widened.

Before either of them could speak, a voice called out from the door leading to the main hall. They broke apart, the voice growing more insistent.

“Duty calls,” she murmured, her face hot.

“Always does.” He reached out, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. The voice was louder now, having moved from the door into the gardens. They took their leave and quickly returned to the party before more people noticed their absence.

Cassandra could still feel her lips tingling even when she went to bed that night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of it - good fun to write, and with loving thanks to my wife as always <3 -v.

_ I love you. _

 

The morning heralds the success of Vivienne’s salon, but the Seeker barely notices. Cassandra’s pace around the battlements is slow - slower than she had ever walked around Skyhold. But then, she reasons, her mind was racing enough as it was.

She had _kissed_ him.

Even that thought alone was enough to make her smile. She had kissed him, and he had kissed her. _Mutual kissing_. Her heart dances in her chest. She hopes it is the start of… something. But what, she does not know, not yet.

She knows her heart now, knows she cannot settle for anything less than real affection. But Varric’s feelings are still something of a mystery. One that she is so wrapped up in, in fact, that she does not see him sitting on the battlements until she is practically on top of him.

“Seeker!”

“Varric!”

He looks as surprised as she feels that they are face to face. “How, ah… how are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“Yeah. Good.”

The silence stretches, before he laughs, relaxing.

“This is ridiculous. Look, I… _really_ liked last night. A lot.”

“I did too.” She can feel the blush in her cheeks, but she smiles. “It was… very good.”

“High praise indeed,” he teases, and she swats his arm.

“Yes, alright. I am just… surprised, I suppose. I knew… well, I _suspected_ about my own feelings, but -”

“I, uh… I haven’t exactly been subtle about how I feel, you know,” he admits, laughing.

She worries her lower lip between her teeth. Thinking back, she had to admit he probably had a point. He had been kind and patient, and few rarely were with her.

And then the realisation hits her. Every soft smile, every protective act, even his story about a dwarven rogue and his shieldmaiden… Maker, how had she been so _blind?_

“I love you.”

Varric stares up at her, and for a moment she does not realise that the words were her own. But she swallows, feeling the blush overcome her, and stands her ground. “I - I know it is somewhat… unconventional to say, this early in a relationship, and there will be those who say -”

“Say it again,” he breathes, and she blinks.

“I - what?”

“Say it again. Please. I want to - I want to _hear_ it.” He is trembling, ever so slightly, and Cassandra offers a slight smile.

“I love you, Varric.”

He lets out a laugh, nervous and sharp, and she mirrors the sound, opening her arms to embrace him - 

“ _Mmph!_ ”

\- before finding herself tackled to the floor by an overjoyed dwarf determined to kiss her into submission.

Her hands sink into his hair, mouth pliant under his, and then he really _is_ kissing her, the gentleness of their effort the night before thrown to the wolves. Heat pools in the pit of her stomach and burns for him, and she pushes against him, body pressing up against his hips. She wants to claim him, and to be claimed. But more than that, she wants the words she was brave enough to say. She wants _everything_.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her mouth, and her arms tighten around his waist as she moans into the kiss.

“Varric -”

“Can we -”

“ _Yes_.”

He chuckles, pulling back to gaze into her eyes. “Sure?”

She smiles up at him. “Yes. My room is closer -”

“You sleep on the _floor_ , Seeker. I have a bed -”

“Halfway across the keep!”

“Closet?”

“Varric.”

His eyes light up. “Above the tavern.”

“ _Varric_.”

“There’s a bed -”

“Varric, you are on top of me.”

“Oh.” He grins sheepishly. “Yeah. I am. Sorry.” He shuffles off her, and she takes his hand and he hauls her to her feet.

“Part of me does not want to rush this,” she admits, squeezing his fingers.

“Oh. Right, right. Of course, Seeker.” He looks chagrined.

“Part of me… does not _care_.”

He blinks, before smiling slightly. “And which part is winning?”

She blushes, before pulling on his arm. “I _abhor_ wasting time. I think above the tavern will be quiet at this time. Cole will be reading with the Inquisitor.”

“I love you,” sighs Varric, and Cassandra laughs as they walk along the battlements none too slowly, hand in hand and utterly besotted.


End file.
